


Is this seat taken?

by jackassai, starrelia



Category: Borderlands
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5782846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackassai/pseuds/jackassai, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrelia/pseuds/starrelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of a lowly programmer and an overworked intern bonding over lunches and boners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fuck Tassiter. Fuck Hyperion. Fuck all the muckups in the coding department he was having to fix because the head was an incompetent monkey. 

Right now, especially? Fuck these lousy, overpriced shitty plates they passed off as “food” here.

Jack sneers down at what is supposed to be a hamburger, but he’s fairly certain there’s more actual real meat in his boots than what’s on his plate. There’s a fairly high chance that whatever this slop is will end up killing him before anyone in Hyperion has a chance to.

Oh well. At least he can die in the only peaceful part of the base: his favorite chair, sitting directly in front of the big, beautiful window overlooking the planet the base is on. It’s a wonderful thing - not the chair, the view - that makes it almost all worth it. Almost. Still wants to kill Tassiter and whatever group decided this thing was a hamburger. 

At least he’d have a half hour of peace for him to look out of that window.

A soft, easy smile comes to his face as he nears the window, turning the corner from the lunch hall to where everyone dined at. There she was now, massive, taking up a large section of the wall. A small table in front of it with only one chair - his chair.

He feels a bit of a spring in his step as he gets closer. This, this was the highlight of his day. This was the cherry on top of everything, this view right here. You could see miles and miles of the jungle like forest that spans an enormous distance below the clifftop Hyperion’s base is at. Rivers stretch out everywhere, dissecting the trees into patches. Every now and then, you could even see animals.

It was perfect. It was the best spot in the entire base; the view couldn’t be replicated anywhere else that he found. That was why it was his spot. Because he deserved it. That’s why…. That’s why…

There is an intern in his spot.

It has to be an intern - they’re the only ones dumb enough to not get the memo that that is where Jack sits.

Jack stops to an abrupt halt and stares at the lanky man spread out in his chair. Stretching his arm over Jack’s table. Pushing food around miserably where Jack’s tray should be. Staring out of Jack’s goddamn window.

“Whoa, whoa wait- wait a minute here,” Jack scowls, plopping his tray on the table next to this shitiot’s tray. He points at him. “You’re in my spot. Move.”

The intern thus dubbed shitiot goes cross-eyed looking at Jack’s finger, “Excuse me?”

“What, you a bit slow upstairs or something? Move.”

Shitiot scowls back at him, slaps his finger out of his face, and pointedly stuffs a bit of - is that pasta? - food in his face.

“Wow, you are the worst. The absolute worst. Get out of my spot before I do something drastic.” Jack frowns at Shitiot and raises a hand up, adjusting his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t actually know what he’s going to do yet, but it’s going to be something. Something that’ll make Shitiot wish he had moved when Jack graciously gave him the chance to do so.

“Your name isn’t on the table, so fuck off. I don’t have time to deal with some programmer with his panties in a bunch.”

Jack opens his mouth. Jack closes his mouth. Jack opens his mouth again, but the only thing that comes out is something strangled in fury.

Who the fuck did this kid think he was? 

More importantly, did he not know who the fuck Jack was!?

Very, very calmly, Jack takes in a deep breath of air and lets it out through his nose. Unfortunately, he can’t kill Shitiot yet. His position in Hyperion isn’t secure enough to get away with that. Working on that, but not there yet.

That doesn’t mean Shitiot is going to get away with this disrespect, though.

Jack reaches out and yanks his chair out further from the table. The indignant squawk of Shitiot gains their attention from the rest of the employees on lunch break, and Jack just grins viciously at Shitiot. The bigger the crowd, the more fun this is going to be.

With Shitiot scowling and trying to make some coherent sentences string together, Jack enacts his plan.

He sits directly down on the little intern’s laps and starts eating like nothing out of the ordinary is going on.

Below him, he feels the intern freeze up fully before forcing himself to relax. Jack’s almost disappointed he doesn’t make more of a scene, but the chest against his back shifts as he inhales and then hisses against Jack’s ear, “What are you doing!? People are watching us now.”

“Yep,” Jack responds easily, going back to eating his food.

“I- oh,” The tone of voice changes, and he’s tempted to look back, but he refrains. Keep it normal, Jack, don’t break character. “I see.”

Jack squints into his tray, but Shitiot doesn’t respond. Instead he– Oh, wow. That’s just not fair. He starts doing exactly as Jack’s doing: ignoring everything and pretending that it was perfectly normal for Jack to be sitting on his lap while they ate.

Not only did the idiot steal his chair, not he’s stealing his fun.

At least this should be the only time this shit happens, Jack thinks, scowling into the pitiful excuse for a hamburger.

As it turns out, it’s not the only time.

\--

As it turns out, Shitiot has a name that’s stupider than Shitiot. It’s Rhys, and Jack learns about this the fifth day he finds Rhys sitting in his spot. They hadn’t talked to each other the entire time this has been going on.

Then, that day, Rhys decided to talk for whatever reason. Jack found out Rhys’ name and started laughing so hard, he almost choked on the boxed instant mashed potatoes.

Rhys kicked him in the shin. They didn’t speak anymore that day.

\--

Oddly, lunch is… almost fun after Rhys started taking his pot. Not that Jack actually tells Rhys this - of course not - but he’s okay with talking to the intern. 

Some days they just shit-talk Tassiter or the head of Programming. Some days Rhys goes off on a mile long rant about this stooge name Vasquez that Jack swears he’s heard before. 

Other days, the bad days, they just sit in silence eating their meals. It’s not awkward like it should have been.

Today is one of the quieter days for Jack. Long night, little sleep, and longer day working out some moron’s coding that should have been scraped out of mercy for the poor coding. It also means that he’s hungry enough to have devoured his lunch in minutes, but doesn’t want to leave.

He’s still hungry, too, so he eyes Rhys’ plate of pizza and fries in contemplation. Honestly, it’s the least weirdest thing they could do considering Jack’s already sitting firmly on Rhys’ lap.

“Hey,” Jack starts. Behind him, Rhys twitches a bit at the sudden noise and hums a confirmation that he heard, “I’m stealin’ some fries.”

It takes Rhys a couple of minutes to realize what Jack just said. In those minutes, Jack has stuffed a good five fries into his mouth and is going back for more before Rhys slaps his hand away.

“Hey, that’s my food, asshole.” Rhys scowls at him and he shoots Rhys an amused look. “You already had yours.”

Jack’s hand twitches towards Rhys’ tray again. Rhys attempts to push him off, but Jack doesn’t even budge. He knows Rhys is… kind of pathetic, but, wow, that’s just sad.

Jack still uses it to his advantage, though.

Cackling, he shoves more fries into his mouth, “What, are you just made of noodles? That’s pathetic, cupcake. Really pathetic.”

“Jaaaaack, c’mon, stoppit.”

“Mmm… nah. Taste bette when stolen. Everyone knows that.” He feels the weight of Rhys’ head thumb against his back, and that just makes him break out into more laughter.

“If you weren’t so scrawny you could have pushed me off, noodle-boy. It’s you’re own fault.”

“I hate you. I hate you so much.”

Jack pats Rhys’ thigh comfortingly. “Love ya too, princess.”

It’s afterwards that Jack does something without really thinking about it. After making Rhys hand feed him fries - which had, honestly, been hilarious. After they were both done with their meal.

Jack stood up and stretched his arms with a grin, feeling a lot more energized after having messed with Rhys so much. He blames that for what he does.

“Thanks for the meal, Rhysie,” he coos mockingly, leaning into Rhys’ personal space and planting a kiss on his cheek, dangerously close to his lips.

If Jack pulls away a bit too fast, finally realizing what he’s done, he doesn’t think Rhys notices.

Rhys is, at the moment, a bit too preoccupied punching him in the shoulder. Predictably, that does nothing. It does make Jack laugh so hard he doubles over, slapping at his knees.

The kid being so pathetic makes it easy for him to forget what he just did.

And then things just get worse.

\--

“C’mon, gimme,” Jack says, not taking his eyes away from his ECHO, but opening his mouth. He doesn’t need to see to know Rhys is giving him the most suffered look he can imagine. 

It’s not Jack’s fault he’s so busy he can’t even feed himself. Really, Rhys signed up for this from day one.

Suffering or not, he still feeds Jack. Jack counts that as a win and leans back against him further, sighing in frustration over the coding.

“Friggen.. A damn bandit on that shithole Pandora could code this better,” he mutters, eyes aching from how long he’s been looking at the screen.

Behind him, Rhys hums an affirmative, but seems lost in his thoughts.

“I mean- look at this shit. You’re an intern, but I’m pretty sure you could do this moron’s job better. Dickface had to be blowing someone to get his job.”

“Mmm. That’s nice, Jack.”

Jack breathes out hard, tossing his head to the side to get his hair out of his eyes. Scowling, he goes back to another part that needs to be fully rewritten - something that should take weeks.

Too bad the head wants it done today. And, oh, yeah, decided to drop it on Jack’s lap to make sure it was done properly.

Yeah. The day it’s due. Perfect. Great.

“Graaaahhhh, I wanted to shoot and strangle them all.” It’s a whine, mostly, but it’s quiet enough only Rhys would hear it. “I’m going to go grey before I’m thirty at this rate!”

“A-at least you’d still look good?”

Jack frowns, finally noticing Rhys’ tone of voice has gone all… funny. He’s about to turn around and question it when he feels it.

Oh. That. “Is that—?”

Rhys squeaks something. Jack is frozen for a beat before he breaks out into laughter. “It is! Oh my god, Rhysie.”

The little nerd is hard as a rock under him. How didn’t he notice that before?

Rhys shoves desperately at his back to get him off, and, well, Jack can be a nice guy sometimes. A boner in public is a pretty serious thing, after all. He’s about to slide off of his lap when Rhys makes some strangled sound and wraps his arms around him, keeping him securely on his lap.

Jack shoots him a questioning look, but Rhys has his head pressed against Jack’s shoulder blade, shuddering.

“Nope, nope. You- stay. Just stay. Until it goes away. Y-yeah.”

“You want me to stay, in your lap, until your little problem there goes away?” Jack pauses and then snickers, “Heh. Little.”

“I– Was that a dick joke? Don’t joke about my dick while you’re sitting on it!” Rhys hisses harshly, keeping his voice down, but the hurt is still there.

Jack almost takes pity on him. Almost. This shit is too funny to let go of, though. Not with the way people are now staring at Rhys’ hold of Jack and the… intimate picture they paint.

“Not even on your dick, princess. Yet. Getting a bit ahead of yourself, ain’t’cha?” Jack teases lowly, shifting around just to hear Rhys curse under his breath.

It’s worth the sting of Rhys pinching his side. Even more worth it when Rhys wiggles in his chair a bit, dick firmly pressed up against Jack, now.

“You know, this is doing nothing for your public image.”

“And standing up with a boner showing is better? No. Shut up. Don’t answer just- stay still, damnit.”

That is the last thing Jack wants to do right now. He shifts again, relishing the way Rhys whimpers softly, and cranes his head to look better at him.

He makes. Wow. A very pretty picture. Why hadn’t Jack noticed before?

Well, he can always make up that lost time.

“Who knew you were so eager to stick your dick in me, mmm?” Rhys whimpers again, and Jack can just see the way his ear tips are turning red. Hah. Hilarious and adorable. “I mean, my ass is amazing, yeah, but-”

“Jack,” Rhys raises his head up finally and - wow. Yeah, arousal is a really good look on him. “For the love of god. Shut. Up. Stop moving. Please.”

Jack weighs his options fully, neither agreeing or denying yet. It had been a while since he saw any action, and the kid was cute. Stupid as a sack of shit sometimes, but at least he had a pretty face.

And, from the size of that bulge against him, a decent size dick. That was always a plus in Jack’s book.

Rhys stares at him with those pleading eyes and Jack just grins and grins and grins.

“Tell you what. Here’s how this goes: I’ll be quiet for now and after lunch is over, I’m dragging your pretty ass back to my apartment so I can get to know your friend there more.”

Rhys makes a strangled noise, hands twitching sporadicly against Jack’s shirt. His head thumps back again Jack’s shoulder blade and Jack can just feel the shudders wrecking his body.

Jack takes that as a ‘Yes, lord almighty, please you handsome man, ravage me.’

He loves it when he wins.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ceccie was kind enough to write Rhys' side of the story! ( ˘ ³˘)♥

Coming to Hyperion is probably the best thing that has ever happened in Rhys’s life. Everyone looks at Hyperion with both hatred and awe in their eyes, because Hyperion is still so god damn influential and at least it didn’t go to shit like S&S Munitions and Atlas did. It’s a pity, too; Rhys actually liked Atlas’s guns.

Their colour scheme, too, because being surrounded by red and black and white is _awfully depressing_ and Rhys hates Hyperion.

No, really, he does hate Hyperion more than he is allowed to admit. Someone is always dying, someone is always screaming, work comes in waterfalls and leaves in tiny trickles, and being able to eat is a privilege here. Rhys isn’t going to be surprised when Tassiter makes breathing a privilege, not a right.

Don’t even get him started on all the work he has to do—how many projects has been dumped on him the moment he came to Hyperion? He’s sure he needs to use his toes to count, and Rhys doesn’t want to think about it right now.

Right now, it’s supposed to be his break and, right now, he’s supposed to be eating… whatever it is that he put on his plate.

It’s a very, very sandy yellow with… god, Rhys can’t even identify the sauce they used. Whatever it is, Rhys feels the immediate urge to _not eat_ right now. He needs to pay more attention when putting food for himself on his plate, and he makes it a note to himself to actually pick out food that looks like food.

He thinks whatever it is that he has right now is greying. Ew. He thinks a chunk of it is throbbing or something.

A sigh escapes him, and he uses the cheap fork in his hand to move and shape the food around, and he finds himself drawn to the view outside. Hyperion’s headquarters may not be situated in the prettiest place, but the view here is still… so very pretty.

It’s a confusing array of colours right now; orange and pink and green, with the smallest undertones of blue, and Rhys thinks he can appreciate the view for the duration of their break, at least. Then he’ll shove the food in the trash, steal a snickers bar from the asshole two offices away from him, and eat it while he works.

A small part of him plummets to his stomach, and he looks down briefly. His hand is still poking and prodding at the food with his fork, and Rhys sighs.

It’s peaceful.

… until someone slams their tray next to his and nearly makes him fall backwards in his seat. What the hell?

He looks over to his side, perplexed, and he jerks back in surprise when a finger ends up in between his eyes and he can’t help but focus on it the moment it’s in his view. What the—oh, the person this finger belongs to is saying something.

“You’re in my spot. _Move._ ”

Rhys kind of wishes he stopped paying attention. He blinks, still focusing on the finger in the middle of his face, and Rhys responds without even thinking. “Sorry, what, _excuse me_?” He _tries_ to sound indignant, but he’s sure that it’s hard to come off as such when you’re cross-eyed and staring at a finger.

“What, you a bit slow upstairs or something? Move.” What did this asshole say?

Incensed, Rhys responds with slapping his hand away – hard – with his cybernetic hand and he relishes at the fact that the asshole seemed taken aback by that—though it doesn’t really help much, because the angry face is back on and Rhys is glaring and scowling back.

Instead of answering this scumbag sonnuvabitch, Rhys aggressively stabs several – what the fuck did he even pick up? He can’t _fucking tell_ – whatevers onto his fork and shoves them into his mouth, nearly gagging himself, but he manages to keep his reflex from reacting and instead starts to chew, slowly, while staring at the shitstain that interrupted him.

The glare on the asshole’s face just gets worse, and he’s opening his dumb mouth again. “Wow, you are the worst. The absolute worst. Get out of my spot before I do something drastic.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Rhys responds without thinking, mouth still full of the disgusting food and oh god Rhys thinks he’s gonna puke, and the other guy is narrowing his eyes at him. When the asshole is still staring at him intently, glaring, Rhys rolls his eyes, swallows the – oghh that’s too thick, oh god – food down, and talks again. “I don’t see your name _anywhere_ on the table, so, y’know, fuck off. I don’t need _another_ programmer with his panties in a twist talking to me.”

He feels nothing but victory when the jerkwad is sufficiently silenced, and he’s about to go back to eating his food when something unthinkable happens.

The jerk yanks him back (with ease, Rhys notes with no small amounts of salt), and Rhys is ready to yell at him again when a heavy, heavy weight falls down on his lap, his vision is blocked out slightly, and he’s smelling some very intense cologne.

… Is… is he… lap? Is he on… lap? Lap? **_What the flying fuck_**?

“People are _looking at us_ , you _assfuck_.” Rhys hisses out, and the man only responds with a simple ‘yep’ that makes Rhys want to shove his fist up the guy’s ass. He inhales sharply, closes his eyes, and tries to think over what to-

You know what? No, he’s just going to eat. He shoves at the man on his lap a bit, shifts around and tries to make himself comfortable, and he’s reaching over to grab at his tray. He drags it around until it’s easier for him to eat, and he finds it surprisingly easy to eat again despite the man fuming on his lap.

Honestly, Rhys doesn’t give a crap. Even though he isn’t reacting at all, this man has declared _war_ on him now and Rhys is not one to back down.

\--

Turns out, neither is the programmer. His name is Jack, and he learns that near immediately when one of his colleagues tells him about the asshole that sat on his lap. Some of his colleagues looked at him awkwardly after that happened, but it quickly faded away when people seemed to remember who it was that sat on his lap.

Apparently, Jack was quite the drama queen and something like this doesn’t really surprise them. Or, so he hopes at least. Rhys doesn’t want any more attention than is necessary, though he knows that that is probably going to be impossible for a bit because from what he understands?

Jack is a stubborn sonnuvabitch that doesn’t know when to quit. For a good few days, Rhys learns this the hard way when he sits at the same spot again and Jack, without fail, flops onto his lap with the grace of a farting rhino and begins eating.

They always do it in relative silence too, and Rhys isn’t really good with those.

So, one day, he opens his mouth and starts talking; he really just wants the uncomfortable silence and heat to go away, but it turns out to be a mistake because he gives Jack his name without really meaning to and Jack is laughing.

He’s laughing so hard that even Rhys is shaking from the force of it, and he ends up kicking Jack _really hard_ [or as hard as Rhys is capable of] in the shin to shut him up. He almost regrets it when Jack ends up spitting whatever food he nearly choked on towards some other poor bloke’s food because he realises that, at that very moment, he could have killed Jack and ended his suffering.

Rhys doesn’t attempt conversation that day, or the days after, but at some point, Jack does.

Talking to Jack, surprisingly, helps pass lunch by much more easily. The man is chatty—never once shuts up, and seems to talk himself all big and nice too. Rhys lets all his ego trips carry out, because sometimes he can find something to poke at and make fun of Jack for, and Jack’s indignity at his teasing is always worth it.

It gives him a chance to complain about Vasquez and Tassiter too—the two _biggest_ douchebags in Hyperion. God, Rhys hopes they get eaten by a stalker or skag or something someday. He hates them both **_so god damn much_**.

Luckily for him, Jack shares his sentiment when it comes to Tassiter but absolutely does not recognise Vasquez.

Typical.

\--

One day, Jack decides Rhys is going to feed him. He doesn’t know where the idea came from, doesn’t know why it’s happening, but Rhys just—he really hates him right now. “Hey,” is how Jack begins, voice far too innocent for what he’s going to do to Rhys. “I’m stealin’ some fries.”

It takes Rhys a few moments to register Jack’s words, because well—he isn’t really listening to him, because so far he has been going on a rant about how much he hates everyone in Hyperion (and Rhys agrees but, eh, too many words for a monkey like Jack) and Rhys tuned him out.

“Wait— _nononono, that’s my food!_ ” Rhys yells out when it finally dawns on him what Jack said and he shoves at him—his flesh arm is pathetically useless while his cybernetic arm actually does something—barely. “You already **ate!** ”

Damn it. Why can’t Jack be like the rest of the ‘nerds’ he makes fun of and just be thin instead of being a thick as hell jocky? But, to his horror, Jack is already stuffing his mouth with his fries and Rhys is letting out strangled noises of horror. “Jack! Those are my fries! Those are the only decent thing in the—oh my god, get your ass off of me! Stop eating, you brute!”

He continues to shove at him, to no avail, and Jack is cackling at him that sonnuvabitch. “What, are you just made of noodles?” Jack says as Rhys tries to shove him again, and yet his wide back does not budge. “That’s… pathetic, cupcake. Really pathetic.”

“Jaaaaaaack!” Rhys nearly yells out, and who gives a damn if everyone is staring at them? Jack stole his food! “Stop it right now!”

Jack makes a contemplative noise before he snickers. “Nah, tastes better when stolen. Everyone knows that!” Jack says with a snicker after he swallows his fries, his hands already reaching out for more. At that, Rhys groans and bashes his head against Jack’s back, hoping to somehow shove him off with the force of his forehead.

It… doesn’t work out, of course. Jack only starts to laugh harder, his hands squeezing and crushing his precious fries.

… They were still shit, but not as shit.

“If you weren’t so _scrawny_ you could’ve pushed me off, noodle boy.” He practically sings out and Rhys slams his head against his back again. “It’s your own faaaault,” Jack sings again, and Rhys is groaning.

“Love ya too, princess.”

He’s quietly miserable after that, though he stops when Jack forces him to feed him and Rhys, not wanting his arm to be yanked out of its socket, begins to feed him willingly. He can only watch with remorse as all his fries are devoured by this food monster, stealing the food that Rhys was able to wrestle from the hands of hungry and stupid accountants.

He hates his life.

Rhys hates it even more when Jack gets off once lunch break is about to end, letting Rhys get up, only for him to turn around and grin at Rhys far too widely. Of course, Rhys’s first reaction is _what now?_ which is then followed by an _oh god no_ when Jack opens his mouth.

“Thanks for the meal, Rhysie.” Jack says far too sweetly, and before Rhys can react, Jack is far too close, leaning into his personal space, and his lips are near Rhys’s.

For a moment, Rhys is about to have a heart attack as slightly chapped lips press against his cheek, still so awfully close to his mouth, and his heart is beating rapidly against his chest. His face is _boiling hot_ as he flushes from the action, and Rhys is staring at Jack’s chest with wide-eyed horror when Jack finally backs away.

He doesn’t even wait to see what Jack looks like—he immediately tries to punch Jack in the shoulder with his flesh arm [because he’s a flustered idiot], no noise escaping him, and the blood in his ears drown out the sound of Jack’s laughter.

This can’t—oh god. Unable to take his laughter after three minutes, Rhys begins to rush away, knowing that he’s definitely going to be late if he tries to continue to inflict bodily harm to Jack that he cannot do, and his face is hot and burning as he thinks about what just happened.

Jack kissed his cheek. Jack nearly kissed his mouth. His mouth is slightly chapped. They’re fuller than they feel, and they’re still so oddly soft against him.

Jack. Kissed his cheek.

Jack. Nearly kissed _him_.

Jack nearly kissed **_Rhys_**.

… Oh _no_.

\--

Jack’s talking, but Rhys isn’t really paying attention other than giving him looks whenever the man demands something. He’s far too heavy on his lap, and Rhys is far too aware of the way Jack feels against him. He swallows thickly, hoping that Jack didn’t notice the way Rhys fidgets underneath him, and to his luck the man is far too busy to even notice anything but food.

At least he still has the energy to talk, which is something Rhys… expected, to be fair. Rhys can vaguely comprehend that Jack is… complaining about coding? He thinks? He’s not really paying attention, and all Rhys cares about is the fact that Jack is _way too heavy_ and that he really shouldn’t be thinking about… **things** right now.

Jack’s back is very, very enticing. Why did Rhys never notice that before? … Damn it. He swallows thickly, shifting again, and he looks around. “That’s nice, Jack.” He answers absentmindedly to a complaint Jack said, something about coding again, and really, Rhys should be paying attention so he doesn’t run his mouth stupidly.

“Ugh! I’m going to go grey before I’m thirty at this rate!”

“Hmm,” Rhys hums out at first, brain not really comprehending what his mouth is doing as his lips begin to move. “At least you’d still look good?” He says, tone warbling slightly with nervousness and _something else_ , and Rhys is internally screaming.

Jack freezes on him, and then he’s deliberately shifting.

“Is that–?”

“No!” Rhys squeaks out, trying not to focus on the way Jack feels on his clothed erection and he bites down hard on his lower lip, trying to make it bleed to distrct himself.

Jack, of course, responds with laughter, because apparently that is all this man does. “It is! Ohhh my god, _Rhysie!_ ” At that, Rhys begins to shove at him, eyes wide with panic and the need to **get Jack off** and Jack seems to take pity on him, because he’s about to get up and—

Expose his… erection to—

“No!” Rhys nearly screams out and he grabs at Jack again and forces him back down onto his lap, or well, Jack seems to notice his desperate attempts to get him back on, flops a bit too hard on his dick, and turns to stare at him. “Hiding.” Rhys hisses out, and it all seems to dawn on Jack. “Hiding it, until it goes away. Okay? Okay!”

“So.” Jack begins, voice hushed so to not bring attention to Rhys [oh now he shows sympathy?], “you want me to stay on your lap,” he bounces a little at that and Rhys gurgles, “until your little problem goes away? … Heh! Little.”

“… Was that a – don’t joke about my _dick_ while you’re on it!” Rhys whispers aggressively. Jack, of course, is awfully amused.

“Not even on your dick, princess.”

Rhys flushes hotly at that. “… Not like that I mean! You know that’s not what I meant!” he protests, but Jack seems adamant on ignoring him because he just casually continues with a toothy smirk.

“ _Yet_ , that is. You’re uh… getting a bit ahead of yourself, ain’t’cha?” Jack says lowly, and— _oh_. He’s moving his hips back against Rhys, teasing and taunting, and Rhys tries to hold back a whimper at that. In retaliation, he uses his cybernetic hand [finally] to pinch Jack’s side, but the bastard just seems to _take it_. “You know, this is doing nothing for your public image.”

“It’s better than a public erection!” Rhys hisses out softly, “I am not going to stand up with a very clear boner, thank you very much, and Jack? I know what you’re going to say. Shut up. _AND STOP MOVING._ ”

But he’s _still_ moving; it’s slow, and deliberate, shifting against Rhys in a way that’s far too good and he tries not to whimper too loudly but he is—he is definitely whimpering. He closes his eyes tightly, missing the way Jack takes him in, and he’s trying not to shake.

“Who knew you were so eager to stick your dick in me, cupcake?” Jack coos out to him, and Rhys really wants to shove his cybernetic arm up his ass right now. He flushes harder, tips of his ears turning red, and Rhys hates how hot his face feels. “I mean, I know my ass is amazing and-“

Rhys smacks his side. “ _Jack_ ,” he looks up at him, eyes opening again and a bit glossy, lower lip definitely throbbing with how much he has been biting it, and his face is burning, an embarrassed red that seems to spread down his neck. “Shut. _Up._ Stop. **Moving.** **_Please._** ” He hates the way his voice breaks at ‘please’, but there’s really nothing else that he can do right now—

This is the worst situation one could put him in. What did he do to—

“Tell you what.” Jack says suddenly, confident yet quiet. “This is how it’s gonna go; I’ll be quiet and still until lunch is over but then, after that, I’m dragging your pretty—“ oh, it should not make his stomach flip at being called pretty, “—ass back to my apartment so I can get to know your friend here a little better.”

Rhys lets out a cut-off moan in response and buries his face in Jack’s shoulder, toes curling in his shoes and hands grabbing Jack’s shirt tightly.

… Damn it, Jack won. He can **_hear_** Jack’s gloating already, and he hasn’t even said a thing. Well— _whatever_ , Jack’s won—fine.

But he’s definitely gonna make him pay for it.


End file.
